I honestly thought the light was green.
In a flash, my senses converged with the ear-piercing squeal of brakes, the crunch of metal, the crackling of shattered glass, and the wind on my face as I was thrown from the car.
I honestly thought the light was green. It was a routine drive to the coffee shop after class when I heard the ping from my phone. And I only took my eyes off the road for a second—just a split second—to read the text from Travis. Things were heating up with him. Last night we’d kissed for the first time at the club and he’d given me a ride home when he saw that I was in no shape to drive. I knew he was ready to take it to the next level and so was I.
“C U 2nite?”
I swear it was only a split second.
I didn’t even see the truck. I didn’t see anything until I was outside under the streetlights, lifting myself off the warm asphalt littered with glittering shards of glass. It’s a miracle I survived at all, much less with no major injuries—especially from the look of the Mercedes, a sweet sixteen gift from my daddy with his over inflated bank account. He wasn’t much of a dad but what he missed out on time, he made up for in dollars. It was no longer a car but a crumpled hunk of metal and glass and diamond white metallic paint. The truck was a wreck, too, it’s face smashed in up to the dash. Through the cracked window I could see the driver, slumped over the steering wheel, a splash of scarlet oozing from his head. I rushed over, but suddenly the place lit up with an alternating blue and red haze. The entire scene reminded me of a nightclub after way too many tequila shots. Emergency services were here. I thought I’d best sit on the curb and stay out of the way.
There was a flurry of activity around the vehicles. EMTs lifted the unconscious man from the truck onto a gurney and loaded it into an ambulance. Cars were beginning to pile up on all four sides behind the wreck, the ones in the back making three-point turns to find another route. People on the previously empty sidewalks stared and murmured in grotesque curiosity, some even whipping out their smartphones to capture the commotion on video. That’s when I remembered my phone. Travis. I had to send him a text. I probably wouldn’t make it tonight.
Emergency responders were hovering around my car, trying to find a way in, as I zigzagged my way through the bustle. Why was it that nobody even seemed to notice me? I approached them as a fireman shattered the windshield, nobody bothering to stop me or ask questions. But when I saw him pull my limp body from the wreckage, I finally understood why.
This short story comes to you courtesy of writing prompts at A Writer’s Path.